Bloody Fredas
by SangHellE56
Summary: My imagining of Skyrim's Dawnguard if they knew of the vampire threat in Morthal from Movarth's Coven. A lot more intricate than one would think. OC Dawnguard main cast, no Dragonborn she may show up later. Rated M for gory violence, strong language and some sex


Movarth's Lair, Hjaalmarch. Seven months after Hroggar's family is killed.

Movarth seethed and tossed the plate of human leg from where he sat at the lair table. He was furious over something bigger than Alva being gone for so long, and he got up to give a low, deathly growl before leaping over to the thrall that gave him the shock: The legend of Harkon was real, and his daughter was somewhere in the Skyrim mainland.

The thrall, a young Nord man with widow's peak thin layered blonde hair, was losing the trance look in his eyes. With a snap of Movarth's fingers, he went back into the hypnotic state. But he was starting to show signs of fighting it, in the form of grunts.

Movarth seethed again. "What is this nonsense," He started, talking more to himself than the helpless mortal. "Serana rebelled and was sealed away in ancient times…."

"You know it to be true, Master," said the slave, "I will continue scouting Morthal if need be…urgh…"

"I have a better idea."

With a lightning fast sweep of a hidden steel dagger, the Dread of Hjaalmarch impaled the thrall straight through his right leg. He let out a crisp cry as he slightly lowered in pain.

Movarth growled, his eyes turning cold black as he held out a clawed hand over the Nord's face. The claws grew and went into a state of blacker hue than they normally were. The vampire let out a low, long, blood-lustful guttural last growl as he transformed.

Movarth's Lord form had some resemblance of his normal appearance, mainly his dark bushy sideburns, which were spread out across his now grown-out snout. His eye sockets were almond shaped and diagonal, his skin was darkly blue, and his muscles bulged out of his ebony robes in overt fashion.

The vampire took his pet by the throat and tossed him onto the banquet table. He cried out again as Movarth grinned in place, baring all of his even longer fangs.

"I shall see to it that my brethren find her," He said, his Lord form affecting his speech with a low, more menacing tone. "I now have finer plans than feasting upon the people of Morthal!"

"Master, why?"

Movarth gave the Lord facial expression equivalent of a blank, thoughtful look. He licked his maw, then said, "Because you know of the Dragonborn's exploits across this mortal littered land, and know him personally. He shall retain slaying dragons, not my kin. Until I know fully why Serana is so important, I cannot trust you." He growled yet again. "Harkon will scream to the GODS my name when I rip out his rib cage and pike it into his arse! And all of Nirn will know….Movarth Piquine."

He dashed forward and tore off the thrall's torso single handedly. Ignar Jandoldt died that day, and his last thoughts were of the night he met the Dragonborn: A Nord woman named Oddny Steel-Fingers. So much for home.

Fort Dawnguard. Two days later.

"Urm…"

Minglos Wunlef woke up after what didn't feel like a full night's sleep. The Wood Elf's long, dark hair crept over the edge of his bed and lifted as he did, slowly. Having no regrets of leaving his home in Ivarstead to join the Dawnguard, he expected for something to work around Isran's saying of "sleep is for the weak." If anything, his apparent words of wisdom were the reality, and he couldn't blame him.

Just last week, there had been more alleged vampire thralls harassing the stables in Riften and Windhelm. Two local farmers went missing not long after, and now, the bloodsuckers had the nerve to take over Broken Helm Hollow. Enough so they could close in, but Isran was quieter than usual.

A Nord named Oddny joined the Dawnguard two weeks before Minglos and his Argonian friend, Kem-Eresi, did. She showed promise to the likes of Isran, but hadn't come back since she left to find the Moth Priest supposedly in Skyrim. Rumors spread that she was the Dragonborn roaming the land for almost a year now, but it was over the start of this week that Isran made the order not to talk about that aspect of her any more.

Now, things have been bleaker with an actual vampire in their fortress. Serana, she called herself. Minglos, Kem, and everyone else loved the thought and impossible execution of nothing more than to slay her. It made no sense by any means of Julianos that she was being kept here as an asset. Vori was usually the guard outside, but Minglos caught a rare bit of her stance on the current situation when she said to herself, "This is insane. She needs to die." It didn't hurt that he agreed on that front, despite his disdain for her number of profanities at Kem. Nothing could be done about the bloodsucker, period.

_That is not an Elder Scroll on her back. At least from what I've seen._

He yawned, stretching his other arm at the same time. The Bosmer could hear Gunmar laughing and saying something about a certain Bormog being the strongest. Probably one of the new trolls he got.

Minglos slapped on a grey shirt, stretched out the lids of his amber eyes, and smiled. He got up, went to the restroom to comb his facially outward beard, and got dressed. His armor of choice was the heavy, while Kem preferred the light and sleeveless. Kem's was dark brown studded, Minglos' was light grey.

He reached a table nearest to the cobblestone wall of the recreation room. Taking a seat, he sighed and looked at the role of paper that was there. It was a letter Vori wrote, to be delivered via courier to her fiancée.

Though he didn't dare read the whole thing word for word, he saw her name under "Your sexy fist-loving bitch." He held back laughter at this skeever shit as he quickly folded it and put it back as if untouched.

Only other thing on the table was some Septims and a silver ring. He always ate breakfast either alone or with Kem. The elf was only here to find a prototype of the Dawnguard dagger that Gunmar wanted him to fetch from a chest come today. After finding it exactly where it was said it'd be – the one in that very room – he left for the dining hall.

Agmaer was there cooking, along with Ingjard, Ollrod, and Florentius dining on today's out-of-the-ordinary course: Scrambled eggs with steamed leek and tomato bits on toasted garlic bread loafs.

Florentius smiled as Minglos entered. The elf smiled back. Kem was sitting next to Asildur and Ukef, the former a Dunmer woman with a bright, melon insides-pink birthmark and white dreadlocked hair, the latter a Nord man with grizzled dark blonde hair and a goatee.

Ukef burped and laughed as Minglos took a seat. "Gunmar could use your old wood elf charm to tame Fairing. She's been ornery lately, won't sit for nothing all of a sudden."

Minglos lowered the bright grin on his mug. "I could try."

Asildur was quick to take note of the sudden mellow bow of Minglos' head. His gaze was toward the mead in his hand.

"What's wrong, Minglos?" She asked.

After a pause, the wood elf took out the would-be Dawnguard knife and stuck it into the wood table. After swiftly taking it out, half the blade broke off.

"That's what's wrong. No design appeal enough to tell a vampire they should wiz themselves and kiss Nirn goodbye." His gaze drew to the armory, and he sighed. "Gunmar…"

"It'll be fine," continued Asildur. She was a miner in the snowy tundras surrounding Dawnstar when she decided to join the Dawnguard. She had a playful, let's-kick-ass-and-have-fun-doing-it outlook all the time, despite her family shunning her in an insult-to-injury manner involving the death of her father. Everyone admired how she did it.

"I'm sure he was expecting the dagger to flake."

"Yes, I actually was."

Gunmar appeared in the left archway, arms crossed. "No problem, my good Bosmer man. You come from a rarity of kindness embodied in a village in this land, Minglos. Least I could do is not bark over that shit snapping." He laughed. "I'll take the two bits of that. Better to let Sorine handle it."

Minglos gave the tall Nord blacksmith the hilt and shard. Afterward, he sat back down and doubled down on what was really bugging him: The Dawnguard making no real progress since Oddny left. "It's crazy! That Dimhollow fiasco, and Vori had the nerve to spare this…Serana of that flock of undead that tried to invade the castle?"

Kem-Eresi chimed in after a light sip of Honningbrew Mead. (He refused to drink Black Briar's). "We aren't sitting around doing nothing. There's new vampire activity going on here and on the outskirts of Windhelm. I'd say that's amounting to what Isran wants us to handle." He thought again about what Minglos said. "Babysitting this night killer because Oddny dumped her here and vanished is beyond me. By the Hist, it's been months!"

Minglos sighed. "We're prepared and she knows we can take her on if she tries any shit, that's why. Oddny said she's so important, and spent all this time looking for the Moth Priest that's left by now. Isran saw something in her...I can't make much of it. But we can sure as oblivion continue what we do and protect everyone – and that means everyone – from the common enemy."

"Hey," said a familiar voice. It was Celann.

He stood in the opposite archway of the one Gunmar stood in. "Minglos, Kem-Eresi. Isran wants to speak with you both."

Minglos nodded, while Kem-Eresi took on a stern expression with his shiny lizard face. Both got out of their seats, and walked to the main hall where Isran usually was to address missions. He wasn't there, which meant only two things: He was upstairs and the issue at hand was serious. It hadn't been like this since Oddny was here.

A sunlight glow filled the circle in the center of the entrance hall. "Step right in, Sweet rolls!"

It was Isran at the top balcony. Minglos and Kem did as they were told, shielding their eyes. After a ten second scan of the two – it had become standard procedure since Oddny was there last – The glow faded into nothing.

"Good. Come up!"

The two vampire slayers walked up the long, twisting stairs to Isran's quarters. A growl filled the air as they reached the balcony.

The dark skinned leader of the Dawnguard turned his head slightly to the left, and stopped in his trails as the growling continued. "Things…are getting interesting. Finally." Isran continued without looking at the duo behind him, "And we've got another lead besides the previous asset. A real one."

Minglos raised a brow, but said nothing. Kem's grey reptilian eyes widened.

Isran went on, "A vampire of the Piquine Coven. He'll be the one crying like a bitch once we get some info out him. Time to play Good Hunter, Bad Hunter. And have fun doing it.

"Minglos, help me with the interrogation! Kem, you stand guard and make sure that vein-sipping princess doesn't interfere!"

At this point, the three of them were looking at the rarely seen torture chamber. The growls had ceased, but briefly. In another room was a cell holding Serana. She had a dark look on her face, more so than the usual neutral one. And her eyes were locked on them, menacingly.

Isran and Minglos stepped through the short corridor to the chamber, as Kem-Eresi raised his crossbow and had it aimed at Serana. He was still wide-eyed, and bared his small sharp teeth. "So, today not like usual for you?"

Serana grinned. "I am proud of my blood. But I don't support my father's ambitions. I KNOW there is a vampire of the Piquine Clan in here. If anyone should grill him, it should be me. He will make the situation worse if you don't let me go. Now!"

Kem scowled. "Who do you think you are? Should I slap a god damn one of our helmets on you? Make you an honorary scout and have you play the lute? You're not going anywhere, except Oblivion."

Serana smiled. "I know of your people, Saxhleel. You're treating me no different than how the Nords and Dark Elves have your kind. Oddny, my _friend, _kept me up to date on what's happened these past thousands of millennia. What's the real difference between me and you?"

There was a scream from the chamber. As Serana's red eyes widened, she plunged an arm out of the grate of the cell door and seethed. Kem-Eresi shot her in retaliation with a quick crouch.

Blood from her neck spurted onto the stone floor. The steel bolt projected through Serana's mid-clavicle first and ended through the back of her neck starting point. Her eyes faded to grey as she fell, the noise of the chains jangling aloud as she landed on the little square space of the cell.

Kem answered her question as he slowly got back up. "I don't eat innocent people. Be they Nords or anyone else."

Meanwhile, the scream from the chamber was the result of the new prisoner's hand being cut off by Isran. A nearby towel was used as a tourniquet.

Isran stared at him blankly. The vampire, named Giodarus, was the Piquine at hand. So to speak. He'd lost one from spitting in Isran's face after being asked about Movarth working with Harkon. "You…you mortals know NOTHING!" He cried.

Isran grinned and gestured to Minglos. "He's all yours."

The wood elf took another chair and sat on it. Giodarus was chained up to the max by his legs and neck. Blood was still oozing onto the already red fluid covered floor, dried up from two other grillings that ended with dead fang-faces but no important intel.

Minglos smiled. "I have to say, we're excited to be taking on your coven. Legend has it in _Immortal Blood _that Count Movarth was a hunter, just like us some point in time." He crossed his burly arms. "You know what we do with our own when they get infected by your thirst? We send them away on hiatus until they cure themselves. Priests, potions, whatever methods they feel best. If we were savages, we'd kill them on sight of the Sanguine being passed on. We are a damn fellowship against the undead, and we're proud of it."

He leaned forward. "What's going on with the clubs, huh? Piquine and Harkon wouldn't want an Elder Scroll. All the Holds focusing on the Dragons, they don't know you hide in plain sight! Might I suggest if it slips you're vampires, you wear brighter clothing?"

As he said this the Bosmer held the vampire by the forehead. He squeezed hard, and pushed his mug back. His head hit the brick wall with a small brisk thud.

Back at the cell just outside, Kem was assessing the kill. There was a large pool of blood, at least three inches thick.

As there was new commotion going on next room, Serana's eyes opened back up, fast as lightning. They turned from the edges to the irises pitch black, and she growled lower than the prisoner a door away.

She struggled as she attempted to get back up, ebony eyes locked on Kem. He stood his ground, but found it alarming. _Back for more._

He loaded another bolt. The she-creature of the night stuck out her arms to the sides as her muscles tensed. The growling was at its lowest, and she started to change.

Her face became a monstrous, ridge-nosed snout. Her figure then blackened, promting Kem to back up…

_By the fucking Hist!_

Shards of the blackened flesh came flying, and Serana was now at one. At one with her Lord form. Her skin was a bluish pale grey, and her ears were pointed in the most exaggerated way Kem had laid eyes on. The ears alone must've been a foot long each. Her black hair was still intact, albeit messy and longer. A pair of big wings was at each side of her shoulder blades. And she was naked save for a red bra and panty-drape. Her claws were longer, and her toes sprouted jagged nails vaguely resembling half triangles.

She growled as she slowly reached for the bolt still in her neck. She ripped it wholly out with ease….and grinned sinisterly. Her fangs made a snake's look like comb teeth.

Kem lost nothing of his focus as he shot the mega-monstrosity again. Serana caught the bolt as it closed in like it was a crumbled up paper ball.

"MY TURN!"

Kem-Eresi reached for his axe when Lord Form Serana broke the grate door. She tossed it off the second floor of the keep and it fell with an extremely loud _THUD _following_._ The others were alerted.

Isran and Minglos rushed out the chamber when Kem dealt a cut to Serana's arm. She proceeded to smack the Argonian off of the balcony.

"NOOOO!"

Minglos took out his Dwemer sword and spell-conjured axe, Isran used a sunlight shield on them both, but ordered the Bosmer to kill Number Two.

"NOW!"

The Elven slayer locked on Giodarus as Isran slammed the door to deal with the she-creature. With a sweep of his axe, his head from the mouth up came clean off. A geyser of blood shot wildly upward.

_Yeah…_

There was an abrupt end to the fight beyond the door. Overcome with all that had happened the past fifteen minutes, he took the wooden one-side lock bar off and burst through.

_Auriel damn it!_

Isran was slump on the floor, without a right arm. Oodles of blood shot through the dangling remains of veins and arteries popping out from the meaty lump. The stone floor was nothing but red.

_NO._

Minglos rushed to his side, and pulled out a kit from his satchel. He'd _just _learned Healing Hands yesterday.

He laid a hand toward the massive wound. Isran grunted and coughed up more blood.

"So….this is what it comes to…..pathetic bitch." He laughed and gagged as Minglos tending to him.

"You're not dying on me, Isran!"

As he said the incantation in his head, the elf noticed three things: Ingjard and the others had rushed up, weapon-ready, there was a gaping hole in the glass of the window uppermost left, and there were pain inflicted shouts coming from nearby. But he couldn't make out where.

THE NEXT DAY. 9:00 AM.

Seven hours passed. Everyone was beyond reeling over what happened. Kem-Eresi was the source of the shouting; he'd landed on a stone stick-out portion of the fort's pillars connected to the inside walls. And only had a broken leg, two fractured ribs, plus a black eye. He was dangling a still-lethal twenty feet in the air when Agmaer and Durak used a ladder to fetch him. He passed out, but not without giving a thumbs up.

Isran remained in critical condition. Sorine proposed building a prosthetic arm from Dwemer metal, which Vori criticized.

"I know what I'm doing. Why don't you make yourself useful and fetch the restoration school book references I need?" Sorine smiled as she knew it was their best shot. As soon as Vori left, it turned to a frown, then a stressed sigh.

FOUR DAYS LATER.

There was a bigger breakfast prepared than usual by Agmaer, and no one understood why or cared. Kem-Eresi started using iron crutches, with a bright white cast comforting his recovering left leg. He was wearing a plain shirt with another cast underneath it, and brown pants.

The Argonian grunted as he took a seat. Asildur popped in and sat by his side at the table with naught on it but a bowl of potato soup and a carrot. All the other tables were teeming with flavor.

For the first time since Serana's escape, she smiled. The Dunmer laid a hand under Kem's scaly chin. "You gonna tell me you're done?"

Kem's eyes widened before he could say anything. The tall, burly lizard man had only heard those exact words used together once before in his life. It was when he took up pugilist fighting with an old Nord friend upon coming to Skyrim as a teen. Probably the only one who liked him at that point.

Kem smiled. "Nah. I know when I'll be done. When Saxhleel Bloodwine is finally outlawed. Crap has made me sick since the day I came here…"

Asildur kept her smile. She laid her hand on Kem's naked shoulder, and kissed him. They locked for 20 seconds.

As they let their lips loose, Kem gave a proud grin, if there was such an expression able to be used in Argonian fashion.

"Oooh!" said a voice from behind.

It was Minglos. He came to state that the transplant of the artificial arm on Isran was a success, and that he'd be carrying out orders again like nothing happened.

"He's not good as new. He's good as he always was. Sorine is still working on making the arm spell casting compatible, and he'll be gathering word on everything from Broken Helm to Movarth in just a few hours. Ollrod and Ja'Daeba already have leads on bloodsuckers plotting to use the forces in Morthal as thralls. Pretty well orchestrated, compared to usual."

Agmaer chimed in: "So what now?"

Minglos laughed. "Today, we feast like Jarls. Tonight, we remember to keep necks from turning pale. And tomorrow night, we tell those death breeders Isran fucking LIVES."


End file.
